


I've Loved Many

by nahchilles



Series: Eat bitter, taste sweet [2]
Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, jUst dID a bAD thING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahchilles/pseuds/nahchilles
Summary: Sherlock ignores her, choosing instead to run her hands down the newly bared skin of Wato’s torso. “You know,” she says, her eyes following a downward path along Wato’s sternum before flicking back up to meet her gaze, “I’ve been thinking about doing this all day.”
Relationships: Sherlock | Futaba Sara Shelly/Tachibana Wato
Series: Eat bitter, taste sweet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633339
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	I've Loved Many

**Author's Note:**

> No need to read the first part of the series for this to make sense. I feel like I should apologize in advance for this. 
> 
> Title from Cop Car by Mitski.

There'd been a time when Wato had felt chronically alienated from her own sexuality. She hadn’t felt repulsed by it, necessarily — she just hadn’t really felt anything at all. 

The first time she had sex with Sherlock, it’d been like an epiphany.  _ Oh _ , she’d thought.  _ This is what I’ve been missing _ . And suddenly, it had all made sense. The way people went on and on about sex like it was a religious experience. The way people came apart from it, came completely undone just from another person’s touch, from stimulated nerve endings.

Maybe it’s because Sherlock’s the only woman she’s ever been with. Or maybe it’s simply because she’s in love with Sherlock, and that love makes even the barest of touches feel like a live wire has made its way beneath her skin. 

Maybe that’s why it’s all she can think about now, staring at Sherlock across the cold, sterile metal table. It definitely isn’t the right time — Sherlock hasn’t even looked up from her work in hours. Not that Wato is jealous. She’d accepted that she’d always be sharing Sherlock’s attention with the next case that caught her fancy, because Sherlock doesn’t do anything in half measures, whether it be methodically taking Wato apart with her mouth and fingers or performing an assay on a blood sample. 

That’s one of the things Wato likes about Sherlock — that she prefers to do things herself. Sure, it is in part because she doesn’t trust anyone else to get it right, but it’s also because there’s a specific way she likes to get things done, a special precision with which she handles test tubes and glassware between her fingers.

“You’re staring,” Sherlock says dryly, her gaze still coolly fixed on the micropipette in her hand.

Wato doesn’t bother denying it. She shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Sherlock hums. “You thought I’d pass you over for a couple beakers and test tubes? Give yourself some credit.” She recalibrates the micropipette and transfers some of the yellowish fluid from the beaker into an empty test tube before disposing of the tip. And, finally, she looks up at Wato. Her eyes are tired — they’ve both been on their feet for most of the day, scrambling around the city to follow the case — but she smiles when Wato meets her gaze, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You could go home if you want. It’s getting late. I’ll probably be here a while.”

“I don’t mind,” Wato says, but she cuts herself off with a yawn.

Sherlock rolls her eyes. “If you insist on waiting around here for no reason, you might as well get some sleep. There’s no one here to yell at you.”

“On these tables?” Wato wrinkles her nose at the metal surface. It may  _ look _ clean, but who knows what ungodly things this laboratory has seen?

“It’s either here or the morgue down the hall.”

Wato suppresses a shiver. “Don’t remind me.”

Sherlock appears to finish up whatever it is she’s doing, feeding the tube into one of the many machines that populate the laboratory and pressing a few buttons. She takes off her goggles with a sigh, tossing them onto a nearby table. “Well. It’s another hour until the results come out.”

Wato nearly falls out of her seat. “An  _ hour _ ? It’s almost one in the morning.”

Sherlock pulls out the stool next to Wato and sinks down onto it with a sigh. “I told you, you don’t  _ have _ to stay. It’s just routine testing. You can go home whenever you want.”

“And leave you alone with all those dead bodies in the next room?”

The corner of Sherlocks mouth quirks upwards. “Statistically, you’re more likely to murder me than a corpse.”

“ _ Statistically _ ,” Wato mutters absently, her eyes drawn to the movement of Sherlock’s lips. And just like that, she’s back on this train of thought — really, Sherlock’s ruining her  _ life _ , driving her to distraction with everything she does. If only she weren’t so attractive, or prone to saying endearingly strange, witty things at the worst times, then maybe Wato could keep it in her pants for once. “Hey. I just thought of something we could do for an hour.”

Sherlock eyes her dubiously. “Really? _Here_?”

“Unless you wanted to go down the hall,” Wato says, standing. She promptly closes the scant distance between her and Sherlock, settling in Sherlock’s lap.

“I, uh.” Sherlock’s hands automatically find their place on Wato’s waist despite how flustered she seems by this turn of events. “Are you, um. Sure about this?” Her eyes flicker towards the door. Every sane person who works at the facility has likely gone home, gladly handing the reins to Sherlock to perform whatever tests she wants. Sherlock’s a regular here at this point, and the laboratory staff are usually more than happy to let her do as she pleases lest she complain at them for an hour when things aren’t done exactly to her satisfaction.

Of course, this also means more often than not, they’re left alone in the  _ extremely _ creepy building running tests late into the night. But maybe, for once, that could work to their advantage.

Immediately, Wato feels a little disgusted with herself that she’s gotten to this point — sitting in Sherlock’s lap when there are probably dozens of nameless corpses less than thirty yards away. By all rights, she should be able to wait an hour until Sherlock’s tests are done and they’re back in their own apartment. She  _ should _ , but Sherlock’s thumb is rubbing slow circles into her hipbone and she’s beginning to forget why this is a bad idea. 

Sherlock gazes up at her expectantly, and Wato remembers that she’s been asked a question. Right. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”

Sherlock snorts. “Hooking up with my girlfriend in the same room they do autopsies in? How could I say no to that?”

Wato cringes. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“I’m kidding,” Sherlock says, pressing a soft kiss to Wato’s jaw. “I’m pretty sure they do autopsies in the other lab. Hopefully.” She presses her lips to Wato’s jaw again, then to her neck in a lingering kiss. Her tongue drags against Wato’s heated skin, and Wato shivers at the brush of teeth on her neck before Sherlock bites down and  _ tugs _ . Wato gasps. “ _ Oh _ ,” she breathes, “ _ Sherlock _ .” 

Sherlock just hums against her skin, flicking her tongue against it before sucking a mark onto Wato’s neck in earnest.

“Sh- _ Sherlock _ . That’s going to be a pain in the ass to cover up.”

“Don’t, then,” Sherlock murmurs, lips brushing Wato’s jugular. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know you’re mine.”

Wato  _ whines _ , her hips shifting forward of their own accord, grinding into Sherlock’s abdomen. The low-grade arousal she’s tempered for hours becomes something hot and molten and  _ very _ needy.

Sherlock begins unbuttoning her blouse, fumbling with the second one a little in her haste. She doesn’t bother with the last few — instead, she tugs the fabric downwards as far as it’ll go so that the sleeves bunch around Wato’s forearms and her shoulders and collarbone are bare. In an impressive maneuver, she reaches behind Wato’s back one-handed and undoes the clasp of her bra. 

Wato chuckles breathlessly. “You work fast.” 

Sherlock ignores her, choosing instead to run her hands down the newly bared skin of Wato’s torso. “You know,” she says, her eyes following a downward path along Wato’s sternum before flicking back up to meet her gaze. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all day.”

“What a coincidence,” Wato gasps as Sherlock thumbs her nipple. “I have, too.”

Sherlock’s head dips and she takes Wato’s other nipple into her mouth. Her tongue moves sinfully against it as she sucks, worrying the other one between her thumb and forefinger. There’s a thread of pain mixed in with the spike of pleasure, and it makes Wato  _ groan _ as her hips buck into Sherlock’s, her hand’s gripping at Sherlock’s shoulder blades. 

“Sherlock,” Wato pants, “ _ Fuck me _ .”

Sherlock doesn’t need any more prompting, her other hand making its way to the hem of Wato’s skirt before slipping underneath. Her thumb strokes the seam of Wato’s underwear, which must be  _ soaked _ by now. Wato’s hips buck into Sherlock’s fingers, desperate for the contact, but Sherlock keeps her touch light, just barely giving Wato what she needs to get off. 

“If you don’t—” Wato starts, but she cuts herself off with a moan when without warning, Sherlock’s middle finger pushes aside the damp fabric of Wato’s underwear and slips inside her. Wato nearly sees stars, riding Sherlock’s finger as her thumb strokes Wato’s clit in firm circles.

She releases Wato’s nipple from her mouth, giving it one final kiss before she turns her attention to thoroughly fucking Wato. She slides another finger inside Wato to join the first, and it isn’t much, but Wato feels stretched out and full as she grinds into Sherlock’s hand.  Sherlock kisses her, her tongue stroking against Wato’s in the wet heat of her mouth. Wato moans against her lips, so far gone and helpless to do anything but let Sherlock kiss her.

“Are you gonna come for me,” Sherlock murmurs between kisses, arousal coloring her words, “right here in this lab—”

— And that's when, in what Wato is sure is an act of divine retribution for their actions, the machine's timer goes off like an alarm clock from hell. 

Wato groans for a completely different reason, cringing at the  _ schlick _ of Sherlock’s fingers slipping out of her as she climbs off of her lap. Sherlock grimaces in apology.

“To be continued at home?” Wato says, her expression halfway between a smile and a wince. 

Sherlock hums in agreement, standing up and stretching her shoulders. On her way across the room to the culprit machine, she wipes her fingers off on her trousers, to Wato’s horror.

“That,” Wato says, “is disgusting.”

“Not any more disgusting than what just took place.” She puts her laboratory goggles back on. “Give me fifteen minutes,” she says, and just like that, she’s in detective-scientist-genius mode again, as if she hadn’t just been knuckle-deep in her girlfriend moments before. Her  _ still _ sexually frustrated girlfriend.

Oh, well. Sherlock is Sherlock, and sexual frustration aside, she wouldn’t have her any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _What kind of building has a laboratory and a morgue right next to each other?_ , you ask. _Not really sure_ , I reply. _Don’t think about it too hard. And also don’t think about the fact that they had sex next door to a morgue._
> 
> edit: i just realized how many times i mentioned dead bodies in this and i'm so sorry. it's because i was really freaked out by the concept and not because i'm a necrophiliac or anything i swear HHHHH ok bye.


End file.
